


The Little Lionheart

by KHB123



Series: The Lost Dunedain Verse [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25354657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHB123/pseuds/KHB123
Summary: “My little lionheart," breathes his father, smiling lovingly through his pain. When his father is dying, Kili is born, and Fili, son of Vili, makes a promise. After losing nearly everything and taking the role as a father, Thorin vows to raise and protect his beloved nephews with every fiber of his being. They are his heart and soul. His sons. A prequel to "The Lost Dunedain."
Relationships: Balin & Thorin Oakenshield, Dís & Fíli & Kíli & Thorin Oakenshield, Dís/Dís's Husband, Frerin & Dis’s Husband, Frerin & Thorin Oakenshield, Fíli & Frerin (Tolkien)
Series: The Lost Dunedain Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837525
Kudos: 4





	1. A Hopeless Battle

**Chapter 1**

Thorin looked on in horror at the nightmare before him. He froze in the midst of the heavy battle around him, as Azog the Defiler lifted the head of Thror, the King Under the Mountain, his grandfather, roaring in triumph for all to witness. The bellows of the large, pale orc sent ice in his veins. All other sounds faded, and the young Dwarf prince was numb.

Laughing cruelly, Azog tossed the head of their king. Not breathing, Thorin watched as it rolled down the hill, until stopping five feet away at his feet. Thror's blue eyes stared up at him, his face forever frozen with his shock and previous madness.

"NOOOOOO!" Thorin screamed, his agonized voice heard through the clashing of swords and cries of death. The air smelled of blood, ash, burnt flesh, and death. His numbness was instantly replaced by fire. A hot, blazing fire made of rage and pure malice. Blood lust.

Still roaring, Thorin began to charge at the orc, but a strong hand caught his chest. He fought it, but the hand was stronger. It had a jeweled ring with a rune on it. One of the seven. When the haze cleared, he recognize the one-eyed, roguish features of Thrain.

"Father!" gasped Thorin, fighting to get around him, unsuccessfully.

"Stay back!" snarled Thrain. Though one of the fiercest dwarves Thorin had ever known, the mad grief was clear as day in Thrain's eyes. He too wanted Azog's blood, probably more than Thorin did, but if he would have to choose between protecting his son and avenging his now-dead father, it would be Thorin. It would always be Thorin. And Frerin and Dis, his children and heirs. He just now wished, at the doorstep of death, that he would have told them that more often.

But Thorin, his eldest, could always read him better than the other two. His young blue eyes changed to grief and desperation. "No!" he said roughly, gripping his father's arm now. "I will fight with you! He killed Grandfather! He killed our king! That orc filth needs to die!" He spat.

Thrain felt surge of pride he always felt for Thorin, his young, brave son, who was always so strong and fierce as well as noble and compassionate, but he kept a hard grip on the young dwarf and hissed urgently, "Azog needs to kill us _all!"_

Thorin's eyes widened and now looked unsure, so Thrain continued, "One by one, he will destroy the line of Durin! But by my life, he will not take my son! He will take none of my children! Not while I still breathe!" he growled, now lifting his axe.

"Father-"

"You must find Frerin! Find your brother! Get as far away from here as you can!" Thrain ordered. "Find your sister and her son! Keep them safe!" He started to go, his tattooed features twisting in rage and despair. "We should never have come here! The battle is already lost!"

Thorin became angry. "Not while we still stand!" he shouted, gripping his sword and shield. "We are the sons of Durin! WE DO NOT FLEE FROM A FIGHT! YOU ALWAYS SAID-"

"YOU WILL OBEY ME!" roared Thrain, pointing his axe toward Thorin, making his son step back. He hated doing this, but Thorin can be just about as stubborn as he was and this was the only way. "YOU WILL STAY BACK AND FLEE WITH YOUR BROTHER!"

Thorin stared at him in shock, backing away slightly. Thrain hated himself at that moment, but he didn't back down. The grief for his father, Thror, and the need to protect his family drove him. "DON'T YOU DARE FOLLOW ME, BOY!"

Knowing now that Thorin will obey him, Thrain whipped around, shoving orcs and dwarves aside as he charged toward the pale orc with a vengeful cry. Azog smiled cruelly when Thrain swung his axe, but the pale orc blocked the blow. Somewhere, lost in the battle, he could hear Thorin cry out for his father. For a while they parried, until the Defiler knocked the grief-driven Thrain on his back.

Thrain reached over his axe, but a large boot stomped in his arm, snapping it. Thrain screamed in agony as the fire coursed through him. Looking up, meeting the wolfish features of his opponent, the creature that killed his father, Thrain knew he would meet the same fate. He slumped back and waited as Azog drew a cruel, jagged knife.

_I am cursed._ His father, Thror, truly was a mad fool for starting this fight, all for mithril, but he would soon meet his fathers in the Halls of Mandos. He thought of meeting Iris, his beloved wife. His brothers.

Then he thought of those who still lived. Thorin, the heir to the throne and his proud, stubborn, strong son. Frerin, his courageous and cheerful younger son, whose smile lift even the stoniest of hearts, his tongue the sharpest, and whose recklessness can exhaust many. Dis, a young princess of Erebor, his beautiful, witty, feisty, and _only_ daughter. His adventurous and rebellious little girl, who adapted quickly to the life of the wilderness, who fell in love and married a common golden-haired miner when she barely grew up, who had her first child (his little golden grandson, Fili), and was now heavily pregnant with her second, having at least one more month to go. A grandson or granddaughter, whom he will now never meet.

_Forgive me, my children._

* * *

"FATHER!" Thorin bellowed. But he was pushed back by another raid of orc. Growling curses, Thorin slashed them all down with the strokes of his sword, Deathless, and breaking necks with his shield. An orc had leapt on his shoulders, scratching his already blooded face, but Thorin thrust his sword upward, stabbing it in the face. Throwing the body off of him, trying to catch his breath, he realized that he had lost the point of where his father had charged Azog.

He couldn't find Azog. He couldn't find his father. It was hopeless. But he remembered his father's orders and gritted his teeth to keep tears of despair from escaping. He knew Thrain was right. This was all a hopeless cause from the very beginning. All for mithril. All for the desires of a king still trapped under dragon sickness.

Breathing heavily, still fighting through orcs, Thorin screamed out, "FRERIN! FRERIN! VILI!"

Thorin knew it was cowardly to run, but if it protected his little brother, his sister, his nephew-oh, his precious little nephew-and yes, even his brother-in-law, he would gladly live with the shame, knowing they would all live to fight another day. He would find Frerin, and then Thorin will call the dwarves for a retreat.

In a distance, he spotted Dwalin. Then he saw Balin. The brothers of Fundin fought side by side, taking down the deadly creatures with the valiant strokes of their blades, Dwalin kept roaring like madman as he swung his twin axes, Taker and Keeper, into the spine of a large, beastly orc.

Thorin was fighting his way to join them, ask them if they had seen either Frerin or Vili, his brothers (one by blood and one by marriage), when Balin saw him. His friend's eyes widened in horror and he pointed, shouting, "THORIN!"

When Thorin turned around, he gasped as a massive club hit his shield aside. The impact was strong enough to send him flying over a short slope, tumbling painfully over rocks and corpses. Gasping for air, hair in his face, he looked up to see his attacker.

Azog the Defiler was readying his massive club, walking toward him with cruel, predatory grin on his monstrous features. He was coming toward Thorin. Thrain was nowhere to be seen. He was most likely dead.

Filled with adrenaline, his side burning from perhaps cracked ribs, Thorin frantically looked around to find his sword and shield. He found his sword-and next to it, an oaken branch.

Azog the Defiler, roaring, had leapt off the cliff after him, raising his club to smash the young dwarf's head. Without thinking, Thorin grabbed the branch and raised it above his head, bracing himself for another bone-crushing impact. Should he die from the blow, he found himself thinking of...

_Fili._

* * *

_Fili. Dis._ Vili cut down another orc. Then another. Red and black hazed his vision as he swung his twin swords, butchering body after body like swinging pick axes against the rocks from the mines. With each blow, he was determined to survive. To return to the two people he loved most in the word. _Three_ people, he reminded himself. His beloved One, Dis, his five year-old son, Fili...and his nameless unborn child, whom he was determined to see and hold in his arms when the month passed. Even if he had to cut down another thousand orcs to do it.

The normally cheerful miner's face twisted with burdens and horrors of this bloody battle at the dark entrance of Moria. He bore many cuts and bruises, his braids now messed up from the struggle, his dark blond hair splattered with ash and blood (both red and black). He growled menacingly as he fought through more orcs, swing his swords expertly through flesh and bone.

He was not a warrior. Not really. Not like Thorin, who was one of the best Vili had ever met, even in his young age, not to mention one of the scariest, especially when he played the role of a protective older brother when it concerned his baby sister, Vili's wife, Dis. Vili could recall a few scary, life-threatening experiences in the past he had with Thorin when he still been courting the young dwarf maiden...but eventually, after he married Dis, Thorin warmed up to him a little.

Frerin had always liked Vili. He may share the same colors as Thorin, but he also shared Dis' colors and her playful, feisty nature. He was nowhere near as intimidating Thorin, or cunning as Dis, but Frerin was definitely a spitfire all on his own. One that usually got him into trouble.

Recklessness. Something he and Vili had in common, when they became friends. And now brothers.

Vili heard a heavy squelch behind him and he turned to see Frerin impale two orcs at once with his sword. When they dropped to the ground, Frerin was panting, but managed to gasp, "Thought you needed a hand!"

"No more than you do!" retorted Vili, returning a grim smile. A faint twinkle shown his now worn and haunted brown eyes.

The same for Frerin, but the young Heir of Durin looked worse. His normally cheerful blue eyes were flushed out with horror and devastation. Vili recognized grief when he saw it. _Oh, Mahal! Who was it? Not Thorin!_ He may have not been close to Thorin like he was to Frerin, but he and Frerin were practically inseparable. If Thorin died, Frerin would break.

"I cannot find Thorin!" Frerin panted, answering Vili's thoughts. "Or my father! The pale orc...he...Grandda...he's..." He couldn't finished, too horrified to speak.

_The king is dead!_ Vili knew, and he couldn't speak, but he did feel the plummeting dread in his stomach. The one that gave warning before you fall to your death in the results of defeat. The one that he felt two or three times per month when he developed that certain instinct that there was to be a mine collapse. It was over. They were defeated. If their leader was dead, the dwarves were doomed. There was no one to lead them. The purpose of this battle had died with the madness of King Thror, along with King Thror himself.

Frerin may have distanced himself from Thror, and then from Thrain, pretending to want nothing more to do with them for their ways of ruling and their imperfect treatment towards their children, but the love between a father and son does not break to easily, if at all. Vili should know; his little golden Fili was his treasure. His pride, and everything that now made him who he was. He was the child of the woman he loved. His little lionheart.

Fili was also the tie between Vili and Thorin. Vili knew Thorin loved Fili just as much as he did; the Dwarf Prince may not have expressed it as much, but he remembered that every time Thorin held, touched, or talked to Fili, he would just _melt._ Thorin had been through so many hardships since the fall of Erebor, trying to find work as a blacksmith, struggling to feed and protect his younger siblings, and also dealing with his duties as an heir and leading his people to different places...until Ered Luin, Vili's home. Ered Luin may not be Erebor, and was not without its own struggles and hardships, but it had been the closest to a home the dwarves could ever find. But even then, nothing had been enough for Thorin, least of all when he found out about Vili and Dis, two young adult dwarflings who were already in love...

Thorin had _hated_ him. Dis had been the closest comfort to him, to their whole family (being the only female left in it), and some lowborn, common Dwarf miner of the Blue Mountains had stolen the Dwarf Princess' heart.

Yes, eventually Thorin had warmed up to Vili some years after they became brothers by marriage, mostly for love of Dis, sparring with Vili to practice a few moves with Frerin...but then when Fili was born...Vili knew he had _finally_ impressed Thorin. If not for being a proper warrior, or highborn, or even a proper dwarf at times, then it was for having a hand in making such a sweet, wonderful, and beautiful little heir and sister-son with golden hair that shined like the sun (brighter than even Vili's) and deep blue eyes that twinkled like his mother's.

Fili was the light of Thorin's life. Of Dis' and of Vili's. Of the whole family's, even Thror, whom even in his gold-sickness was drawn to the rare glow of Fili's hair. There had probably been a few rare moments when Thror had actually looked sane whenever Fili was around, even when it caused the others to be wary, but Fili wasn't afraid of his twitchy great-grandfather. He would just smile.

The moment Fili was born, Vili had truly and finally been accepted into Dis' family. His little miracle.

A shadow moved behind Frerin, and Vili shouted, "FRERIN, BEHIND YOU!"

* * *

Thorin thought both his arms would break, if not for all his years of heavy blacksmithing, when Azog club crashed over the oaken branch. The wood split, but it didn't break, its sturdiness surprising him. Again the club came, and Thorin blocked the blow again. Again. And again.

His arms growing heavy and his chest still burning, Thorin felt himself trip backwards as he dodged the next swing. He was out breath. He was hurting. He was on fire, physically, mentally, and emotionally. As frightened as he was by this giant Gundabad orc, it was nowhere compared to the hatred Thorin felt. The blood lust. The _need_ to rid of this filth that killed his grandfather, his father...his brother? The very idea that Azog may have already killed his baby brother sent Thorin in a fury that threatened to consume him.

The oaken branch still on his chest, his right arm outstretched...his fingers found the familiar iron hilt of Deathless...

"GURU!"* Azog roared, as he swung his club for a killing blow.

As though time had slowed, the world had slowed, Thorin rolled to his feet and swung Deathless with all his might, the vengeful club raining over his head.

Blood splashed the earth.


	2. Fight, My Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Gory sequences

**Chapter 2**

_As though time had slowed, the world had slowed, Thorin rolled to his feet and swung Deathless with all his might, the vengeful club raining over his head._

_Blood splashed the earth._

Thorin had felt his sword cut clean through flesh and bone with all his strength, his mind raging like the fires of Smaug. Panting, he watched as Azog let out a scream of agony, holding up the bloody black stump from where his hand had been, which now lying limp on the ground with the giant club. So much blood spilling, squirting from the handless arm. Still screaming, the giant Gundabad orc fell to his knees, weakened and mourning his lost hand. The left hand that wielded his weapons.

Azog the Defiler was at his mercy.

Thorin clutched Deathless and his oaken shield, his side still burning, but he felt stronger. His emotions flooded in the haze of his bloodlust. This monster had killed many dwarves, many _people._ He killed his grandfather and possibly his father. Thorin readied his sword as the orc's pale eyes met his, looking crazed with agony, rage, and a hint of fear, for one who was thrived on pain and death.

 _Good,_ thought Thorin. He should be afraid, because Thorin was going to behead him, as the orc did to Thror. He was going to make Azog suffer for all the horrors he caused...

Just as he was about raise his sword, some cold feeling swept over him, sending shivers down his spine. It was pure instinct; something felt wrong. He did not know why he looked up, over Azog's bowed head...but when he did, Thorin felt all the air leave him as he felt a gasp escape him.

In the distance, not too far away on the rocky hills of battling orcs and dwarves, Thorin saw Frerin. High in the air, impaled by a sword protruding from his chest through the back, the large orc holding him up for all to see. His baby brother's mouth open with a soundless scream, his head tossed back limply.

This was worse than seeing his grandfather beheaded. Worse than anything Thorin could ever imagine. He felt as though the spear had run through his own body. He couldn't move. It couldn't be real. Not Frerin. _Not Frerin. Please, not Frerin!_

"FRERIN!" Thorin screamed, loud enough to be heard by all in the loud chaos. The orc had then waved his sword, and Frerin went flying off, his body rolling down the hill with a crash.

Still screaming and sobbing at once, Thorin charged around Azog, forgetting the pale orc completely. Blinded by grief and bloodlust, Thorin butchered every orc in his path, even shoving aside a few dwarves, to get to the one that murdered his beloved brother. But before Thorin could reach it, a flash of dirtied gold whipped in his vision and he saw that Vili had beaten him to his vengeance. There had never been such murderous hatred in his brother-in-law's features until now, as his sister's husband flew forward and knocked the large orc with such a force that sent them flying backward into the crowd, out of sight.

"NO! NO!" shouted Thorin, fearing for Vili, but also angry for losing sight of the monster that killed his brother, now unable to slay the thing himself. But at the same time, he was grateful. He had to get to Frerin. He had to see him, mourn him. Even just for a minute.

Thorin was lost to reason in his tears when he found Frerin lying there on his back on the slope of the hill. He knelt at his brother's side...and found to his shock that Frerin was moving, spasming and gasping for breath. His heaving chest was heavily covered with blood, spilling to the ground, making a puddle around him. Even his mouth was coughing up blood.

Still gasping with grief and lost of words, Thorin leaned over his baby brother and lifted his head for him to breathe easier. He smoothed the black hair strands out his face. "Frerin..." he gasped, breathlessly. "Nadadith..."

Still panting, Frerin opened his eyes, their pale blue hazed with agony and already filled with tears. As he frantically tried to search for the voice, Thorin called out to him again, and Frerin's eyes found him. "Thor...Thorin?" he wheezed. He lifted his hand, trembling with effort, and touched his older brother's face, who caught it and held it there.

"Shhh, I'm here," croaked Thorin, tears escaping and running down his cheeks, through Frerin's bloody fingers. "I'm here, Frerin." He pressed a hand over the gaping wound, even though he knew it was hopeless. There was no way Frerin would survive this; it was amazing that his little brother was still _breathing._ "Oh, Mahal! Frerin..."

Frerin's ashen expression relaxed slightly. A tear escaped his eye as he smiled up at Thorin, hand still stroking his face. "You're...you're alright...Thorin…you're safe….I was...was afraid...I'm sorry..." He started coughing wetly, spitting more blood. Thorin, trying to swallow his panic, shifted his brother into his lap and cradles him, trying to make him more comfortable.

"Vili! Where's Vili?" coughed Frerin, his eyes shut as he struggled for breath. "He…he was here..."

"He's fine. He's-He's fighting...Don't try to talk," Thorin chokes out, stroking Frerin's black hair. "Please, Frerin...please, hold on...We'll-We'll get you through this, nadadith..you'll be fine..."

Frerin slowly opened his eyes and shakes his head with a sad smile. "No," he breathed. He wipes Thorin's tears with his thumb. "Please...stay...until I sleep…" he begs softly, sounding like a child.

Thorin nodded and kisses the dying dwarf's hand before gathering his brother closer to his chest. Frerin whispers, "Father...?"

Thorin shakes his head, more tears escaping. "I don't know. But the pale orc...he will harm _no one_ ever again."

Frerin chuckled, breathlessly. "You got him?" He sounded vindictive, even in his pain.

"Aye," Thorin smiled, but it was tightened with pain. Frerin fingers touched the corners of his brother's smile gently. He loved it when Thorin smiled; something his older brother hardly did these days. He was happy to see it one more time before he went.

"Vili...get him home, nadad..." whispered Frerin. More tears escaped his eyes, washing away some of the dirt ad blood. "Dis...Fili...you'll take...take care of them...will you?"

"Always," Thorin says softly, cupping Frerin's face, wiping away stray tears. "You know that. Frerin…..nadad, please...please…" He begged, his voice sounding almost like a child. His strong composure was already breaking, for he would lose his cheerful, feisty baby brother, one of the few people in his life that gave him joy, and he could not imagine a life without him.

"You are..." He grunted in pain and takes deep breaths before continuing in a raspy voice, "You are the strongest...most stubborn...dwarf...I've ever known...Fight, my brother...Live for me...if not...then for...for the child...please…p-promise me, Thorin..." The light in his blue eyes starts to fade.

 _The child._ Did Frerin mean Fili? Thorin shuts his eyes to seek what was left of his strength by picturing the little, smiling golden haired child who was his heir and his greatest treasure...his heart...and then nods as he pulls his brother up, until the two are pressing foreheads, Frerin's breath growing faint. "I promise," he whispered in a shaky breath. Tears fall heavily down his face, over Frerin's wound. "Frerin, I promise...I'm so sorry. I love you, little brother. S-stay with me."

Frerin gazes up at Thorin with a weak smile, also full of tears and love, hand still on his cheek to wipe away the tears that ran down his normally stoic brother's face. His strong big brother. This battle should have never happened and he was sorry that he would not say good-bye to his baby sister, his brother by marriage and friend, his little nephew…he did not want to leave yet...but his big brother was with him, his true King, his other half, holding him as the world started to fade, pain becoming peace, where the Halls of Mandos wait...it was more than he could ask for...Frerin uses the last of his strength to raise his other hand and place it over Thorin's chest, gripping where his heart still beat, before drawing his last breath.

"In here….always," he gasps out, another tear escaping him, as he gazed up at his beloved brother one last time. "I love...you...Thorin..."

Thorin watches as his brother's meets his eyes, sharing one last twinkle in their tearful gaze, Frerin smiling even as he breathed his last and the light faded from his blue eyes. His hand that had been cupping Thorin's face leaned limply against his shoulder.

Breathing frantically, Thorin grabbed that hand and desperately struggled to feel for a pulse. But no...Frerin was gone.

A strangled cry escaped Thorin. He clutched his brother closer to him, burying his face into stained dark hair, and cried. He wanted to die. He wanted follow Frerin, his brave, brave brother, a true son of Durin, his other half...

"Thorin!" He felt a hand on his shoulder. Balin. "Thorin, you have to get up!" Balin sounded choked up with tears. When Thorin gripped his brother more tightly, Balin tried again, more urgently. "Thorin, Dwalin and I cannot hold them for much longer! We have to move!"

"What?" Thorin looked up suddenly, tears still on his bloodstained face. He saw Balin standing over him, his face covered his cuts and his gray-brown beard missing a few tuffs. Dwalin was standing further out with his twin axes, taking down every orc that attempted to get near them with a murderous roar.

Balin looked desperate. "The king is dead, and there is no sign of Thrain! We're leaderless! Thorin, we cannot win if we stay any longer! Should we call for the retreat?"

Dwalin growled at this. He hated running away from anything, even when it meant his death, but he didn't argue as he waited for Thorin's decision.

Thorin's teary face then darkened. A growl escaped from the Dwarf Prince, his hands gripping his dead brother's body so hard it shook, the blood still all over his hands and armor. Breathing heavily, Thorin felt himself steel over and his heart become cold as stone as he closed Frerin's eyes. Then, gently, he laid his body across the slope of the hill, where it will be safe, where he could find him when it was all over. He then leaned over and kissed Frerin's brow.

"Farewell, my brother," he murmured. "Your death will not be in vain."

Thorin stood up, her shoulders rigid, fists clenched, and eyes closed. Balin and Dwalin were looking to him anxiously. "Thorin, do we call the retreat?" repeated Balin.

"No," Thorin said. His tone was quiet and venomous. He turned around to face him, his sharp blue eyes steely and murderous, carrying a fire that burned brighter than ever before. "There will be no retreat," he hissed. "I will not run. I will not hide. I will not _cower_ from the very creatures THAT HAVE MURDERED MY PEOPLE, HAVE MURDERED MOST OF MY FAMILY, AND WILL NOT STOP UNTIL EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US ARE BLEEDING AT THEIR FEET!" he roared, his booming voice causing both Fundin brothers to flinch, but at the same time, awe crossed their faces at Thorin's strength. He turned to Balin. "You say we are leaderless. _Not anymore._ I will not stop until all the filth that plagues our sacred halls are buried alive beneath our feet! I will not stop, until we finish what we have started!"

"Yes," growled Dwalin, baring his teeth beneath his beard. Even Balin started to raise his sword in determination, nodding in grim approval. Dwarves started to gather around, their previous fear becoming a burning determination.

"I have crippled the leader of the orc armies," continued Thorin, looking all of them in the eye. In result, he picked back up Deathless and his oaken shield. "Azog the Defiler will bleed to death like a pig before he leads his army of filth against the might of dwarves. It is _they_ who are now leaderless. _We_ shall run them to the ground, slay every last one of them, so they will forever remember to NEVER underestimate the iron hearts of DURIN'S FOLK!" Thorin raised his shield, and the dwarves roared while raising their arms at Thorin's speech.

"WE SHALL RUN THEM TO THE GROUND," bellowed Thorin, "AND THE SPAWN OF AZOG WILL SLINK BACK INTO THE HOLE WHENCE THEY CAME! THIS LAND IS OURS!"

"All hail, Thorin Oakenshield!" Dwalin bellowed, and the dwarves echoed his cry with fierce pride and triumph, chanting to their leader while pounding their axes and swords to their iron shields. "Oakenshield! Oakenshield! Oakenshield!"

 _Oakenshield._ Thorin didn't smile, but his heart lifted a little in spite of his grief. _Frerin would laugh. Brother, watch over me._

Thorin Oakenshield then raised his sword, turned to where the army of orcs waited for them, and roared with all the might of King Under the Mountain: "DU BEKAR!"*

And then they charged, into victory or death, it was yet to be known. During the fight, practically blinded by the blood and sweat in is eyes, Thorin was also determined to keep his promise to Frerin. Starting with one.

_Vili...bring him home, nadad._

Where in Durin's name was Vili?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzul Translation:
> 
> *To Arms!


	4. Stay Awake

They had won.

Many of the orcs were either dead or retreated back into the gates of Moria, where they had charged from in the first place. Thorin had seen Azog dragged back with them, wailing with his new bloody stump (given directly Thorin himself) until done into the fiery hole of the mountain. The rest had been a blur, blinded by pure malice as he had cut down as many orcs as he could, fighting alongside Dwalin and Balin. He thought of Thror, Thrain, Frerin...the ones that were taken from him tonight, and he kept fighting.

Soon he had heard Dwalin shout something about the orcs retreating, all the dwarves from Moria, Ered Luin, and the Iron Hills combined charging them backward, into the ground, as Thorin Oakenshield had forsworn. The noise had faded slightly...the air grew colder as the winter winds caught on in the fields...the smell of dead flesh and blood weighed heavily in the air...

They had won. But there was no victory. Looking around him as he stepped over the thousands of corpses, the empty shells of orcs and dwarves combined, there were few living dwarves left. Their numbers had decreased by a large number. Most of them were from the Iron Hills (Dain was among them, but there was no sign of his father, Nain, the lord of the Iron Hills), others from Moria, and few from Ered Luin. Some formerly of Erebor, such as himself, Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, and Gloin.

But he could not find his father. Not even his body. Thorin wandered aimlessly, his emotions trapped deeply in his body like in a granite of stone (he would not break again, not until this was truly over), searching everywhere for Thrain's body, and then twice over. He had found Thror's headless body, found Dwalin placing the head of the king back, while Thorin knelt down and put a hand on his grandfather's body, his face stony and unmoving, but his eyes betraying the weight of grief he felt in his soul. Then he stood, clasping his arms with Dwalin, and pressed his forehead against his friend's. Then he continued his search, leaving Dwalin to embrace his brother, Balin, near the body of their king.

It must have been hours, because Thorin was certain Thrain's body was not among the dead. He was missing, but whether he was dead or alive was a mystery.

_You will stay back and flee with your brother! Don't you dare follow me, boy!_ His father's final words to him. Even when Thorin read the mad grief in his eyes, his final wish had been for him and Frerin to get to safety. When Thorin closed his eyes, an unchecked tear slipped down his face, but he was silent.

_I'm sorry, Father. I couldn't save him. Frerin should have lived, not me._ The _only_ thing that Thorin was thankful for was that Thrain would not have to know what happened to his youngest son. Even if he were alive, Frerin's death would be enough to destroy Thrain's mind. It had nearly destroyed Thorin's, but it was his little brother's brave, loving smile, the final twinkle in his blue eyes, and putting his hand over his heart as he said goodbye that put Thorin's mind slightly as ease. It did not make it any less painful, but Frerin's final wishes-and the reasons behind those wishes-reminded Thorin that he _had_ to live.

For Dis. For Fili.

_Live for me...if not...then for the child..._

And then there was Vili. When Thrain was nowhere to be found, Thorin search frantically for Vili, his brother-in-law, looking among the dead for a sign of golden hair. He found very few (golden hair was rare as women and children were among dwarves), but none were Vili. He called out his name many times, the dwarf miner's lack of response threatening to break him.

_Vili...get him home, nadad..._

Vili had been Frerin's closest friend. The first one Frerin ever made that hadn't been Thorin's friend first. Vili had been much closer to Frerin than he had ever been to Thorin, even when the golden-haired miner from the Blue Mountains had fallen in love with his sister. Thorin had remembered a time when he despised Vili for it, but now...oh, Mahal. Now Thorin regretted ever feeling that way toward Dis' brave, cheerful and reckless One. He became like a brother before Vili even knew it. Even before Fili had been born. Thorin just wished he hadn't been too stubborn to hide it. He prayed that he wouldn't go back to camp to face his sister and tell her that not only their grandfather, father, and brother were dead, but also her husband. The father of her son and unborn child.

Then Thorin's eyes caught a glint of golden hair. Conjuring whatever hope he had left, he came to investigate the body on the ground...and found to his shock that the dwarf was still breathing. The braided mustache, the unruly golden hair...when his eyes fluttered as he panted and coughed blood, they were brown. He was covered in dirt and blood (both black and crimson), but Thorin recognized straight away and a chill went through him.

" _Vili!"_ Thorin shouted in panic, and charged forward to the fallen miner. When the Dwarf Prince fell to his knees by Vili's side, he let out a choking gasp when seeing the large dagger plunged into the midsection, just between the hips. Blood pooled, but it was slow and deliberate. "Vili...no, Vili..." He leaned over and placed his hands on either side of Vili's face. "Look at me. Open your eyes. Vili!"

Hearing Thorin's deep bellow, Vili let out a heavy gasp and opened his eyes with a start. Blinking, he managed to meet Thorin's gaze. Still panting for breath, a small, relieved smile then split his pained face.

"That's right," Thorin whispered, trying to swallow his fear and forced a small smile. "That's it, khazash.* You're alright. You're alright. No, no! _Vili!_ " Vili had been about to drift off, but Thorin shook him awake forcibly and growled in a deep tone, "Vili, you stay awake! Do you hear me? Stay awake!"

He glanced at the dagger and gulped. He was certain that if he pulled out the dagger, it would definitely kill Vili...but seeing where the blade was stuck and how deeply it went, Vili was already dead. This was just making his death slow and extremely painful. A tiny part of Thorin was tempted to just pull it out, end the torture that was clearly racking through his brother-in-law's body...

_No! I can't! He needs a healer. Maybe...just maybe they will save him..._

"I'm going to take you back to camp," Thorin told him, brushing the blond strands out of his face, a gesture he did for Frerin not long ago before he died. "Alright? I'm taking you to see a healer now. Dis and Fili are waiting for you there. You're going to see Dis and Fili, khazash. You're going to see them...but you have to stay awake." He started putting his arms under Vili's legs and back, causing the dwarf to choke in pain and breathe more frantically as Thorin lifted him up with a grunt from the sharp pains at his side. It was a good thing Vili was shorter than him. "Stay awake!"

Vili turned his half-blinded gaze and managed to croak, "I will..." Then he coughed more blood.

Thorin started running up the hills, trying to ignore his own injuries as he struggled to keep hold of the limp Vili and shifting his weight. The hope was futile, but he will be damned if he let his sister's husband die without trying.

It wasn't long before Thorin spotted the first sign of ponies and mules, ridden by other dwarves from back at their camp, enter the remains of the battle. These dwarves were servants of Thror, not warriors, but merchants who had come to preserve the supplies or guard the camp. And then...when the battle was over, they would collect and burn the bodies. The carts and wagons were attached to the mules, ready to collect.

When they would find the dead bodies of their king and prince, they would bring them back to camp. And Thrain, if they managed to find him.

Thorin ran up to one of them, a dwarf wearing light-weighted armor and a bell-topped helmet. "YOU! I NEED YOUR PONY!"The dwarf's eyes widened when he recognized the Dwarf Prince of Erebor. "Yer highness-"

"OFF, NOW!" roared Thorin, and the dwarf immediately jumped off. Thorin gritted his teeth and struggled to shuffle Vili upright, who moaned pitifully. The dwarf servant rushed around and immediately helped Thorin lift the wounded dwarf until he was propped upright onto the saddle. Blood dripped from Vili's lips as he bent over and his blond hair half-covered his pale face.

"Thank you," Thorin said quickly to the servant, as he hopped up himself behind Vili and wrapped his arms around him while grabbing the reins. Vili wheezed as his head leaned back against Thorin's shoulder. He had breathed, his eyes closed, _"Dis..."_

"Stay awake," Thorin told him in his ear. As he started to move the pony, Thorin commanded the servant, "Give word to Lord Balin that I have ridden back to camp for the care of a wounded friend. He will know."

"Aye, m'lord."

"And tell him and his brother, Dwalin, to guard the bodies of grandfather and brother...the king and prince of Erebor. And my father, if they can find him."

The servant's face drained white under his helmet at the news. "Aye, m'lord," he gasped, and then added with a slight bow to Thorin, "Long live the king!"

Thorin barely paid heed to the last part as he spun around with a yell, and soon the pony broke into a full-on sprint down the icy road. The camp was only five miles away. Only this morning before the battle, Thorin had thought it had been too close for wandering orcs to seek out...but now, he was thankful that it was.

"Stay awake," gritted Thorin, as he rode. Tears were appearing in his narrowed eyes, as he felt Vili's ragged breathing against him, but he focused only on the road. "Stay awake."

* * *

Five miles away, the camp was surrounded by snow of January. Most of the fires had to be dimmed to avoid smoke, for the eyes of any orc from the battle could be lead back to the weak and defenseless. Those who were not guarding the camp were huddled inside their tents, wrapped in blankets, lighting the smallest of fires for warmth, and just waiting. _Waiting._

The three largest tents belonged to the line of Durin, where Thror had previously settled with all his carpets, furry blankets, a stove for a fire, a chest, an armchair, and thick bedding for sleep. The two other tents contained more than one person: Thrain, Thorin, and Frerin shared one, while Dis, Vili, and Fili shared the other. Neither of them matched the luxury of King Thror's den, but they were comfortable enough with their furry beddings.

Dis and Fili were the only ones that occupied their tent. It was dark out, already snowing and the wind picked up. Her maids had made sure to tie the flaps down tightly as if they were sewn, blocking out much of the cold winds that had already spread a sickness in the camp. Dis had hoped it would block out the sickness as well. It was the few things she could do to keep her mind occupied from worrying about her family. From worrying about her two brothers. From about Vili, her love.

Dis was seated in the rocking chair she brought, next to the small lit stove that was provided for her and her child to keep warm. It was not much, but she took it for granted. Her family was still struggling through poverty, one of the main reasons they were here to begin with. To reclaim Moria. To dig up mithril. She scowled at the small fire, remembering the day when her grandfather had announced the migration from Ered Luin. She had only been a few months into her pregnancy when it happened...when Thror, clearly showing his usual signs of dragon sickness, had told her that she had to come along. He had paid no mind of her condition, only stating that it would be fitting for her child to be born in the land of their ancestry, since little Fili had been deprived that honor.

She had been stubborn, angry at the king for belittling the beauty of Blue Mountains, which had long grown to be called her home, where she had become a woman, where she had met her husband, where she had given birth to her firstborn, Fili, her little golden child...but her grandfather, using his full authoritative voice as King Under the Mountain, would not hear of it from her. She remembered his reaction frightening her to the core.

When Vili had later heard about it, back from his work, she had never seen him look so furious and panicked...His wife was with child, supposed to be on bed-rest for the next few months, and her own grandfather was ordering her to join the march to Moria? It was unacceptable. Her husband had went straight to Thror, she had followed him, panicked about what Vili was going to do…..or rather what her unstable grandfather _might_ do to Vili, if he lost his temper.

The argument had been a long one. She had Thorin and Frerin at her side, also arguing against this. Even her father tried to convince Thror otherwise, but somehow, Thror won. With _threats._ Dis had wanted to believe those threats were empty, that he was bluffing….but the dragon sickness was always unpredictable, and however poor her family had become, Thror was still king in the eyes of many dwarves.

There came another heavy kick brought her back to the present, making her gasp; her hands moved along the large swelling of her belly, where the baby continued moving. She tried taking deep breaths, feeling the small contractions and started rubbing the expanded bump in small circular motions, the way Vili had always done, to calm the baby. He had always been better at this than she was.

"Please, calm down, little one...please...settle down now..." she gritted, still trying to breathe through her child's painful shifting and kicking. As the baby got bigger, the contractions came more often. This worried her. It had worried her ever since they had left Ered Luin. Already, so early, she had quite a few false alarms when they hadn't even reached the lands of Moria yet.

Counting the months, they had known that this child was supposed to be born in February, toward the ending point of winter. Winter was terrible time for child bearing, for many babies were known to not have outlasted the winter, small as they were and weak.

But this child was of the line of Durin, her family had always assured her. Boy or girl, the baby will be strong. Still, she could read the hint of worry in their eyes. Nothing was for certain. One thing that was for certain was that this child was going to be a wild one. Like Vili...but no, Vili had always told her with a knowing smirk that the wild part was more like _her._

_Well, I guess I cannot argue with that,_ she thought, smiling at the memories of her childhood, and then gasped again when another sharp kick send a spasm through her body, penetrating between her legs. She tried to breathe and kept rubbing. Could she be...no! It was probably another false alarm. Give it ten more minutes and the pain will pass. Ten minutes...

"Mama?"

Dis blinked, as a small dwarfling with long golden hair walked up to her. He looked up at her with wide blue eyes. Innocent...and scared. She smiled. "Fili, love..."

"Mama, you okay?" Fili said quietly, concern ebbing in his little voice. "Are you hurting again?"

"I'm fine, love," said Dis, and then took another deep breath, trying to will the pain ease a little. Then she held out a hand, and Fili put his tiny hand in hers before she pulled him gently toward her. She placed his hand on her belly, holding it there. "Do you feel?"

Fili stilled for a moment, watching in silent wonder. After a second, he felt movement under his palm, nudging like rapid little kicks and shifting. He smiled wide. "Baby's moving." The little dwarfling then gently hugged his mama's swelling stomach, placing his little cheek where the movement was. Feeling his mother take another heavy breath, Fili whispered to the little nudger, "Shhh. I'm here, your big brother. Go to sleep now. I know you don't mean it, but you're hurting Mama with all your kicking. Da is going to come back soon and put you to sleep again, but can you go to sleep for me?"

As if in response, there was a heavy kick against Fili's face, making him pull back in surprise and Dis laughed aloud. "We'll take that as a 'no,'" she commented, and Fili giggled. She stroked her son's hair tenderly, running her fingers through his wavy strands.

Fili leaned into his mother's touch, practically purring with comfort. He loved her so much...but he also his da were here with her. With them together, he always felt safe. When her hand then cupped his cheek, he looked up, and his smile wavered. His mama was the most beautiful lady in the whole wide world, her black hair long and waving with bead braided crowning around her head, her smile so warm with lips as red as strawberries, high cheekbones, a small black beard that curled slightly as a little wisp of hair from her chin, and her eyes as blue and glittering as sapphires. Like Uncle Thorin's. Like Uncle Frerin's, though his were paler in comparison, more of a gray color.

_And my eyes,_ he thought proudly. But he was also extremely proud to have his father's blond hair. Uncle Thorin and Frerin say there was not a lot of dwarves that had a golden hair color. He wanted to grow up to be just like him. Well, the grown ups kept saying that he has to be a prince, not a miner, but Fili just let them say it and then moved on to play. They were all so pushy a lot...but not his da. At least him and da were in agreement. He can be whatever he wants to be.

Still looking at his mother, though, there was big change in her appearance that worried the little five year-old. She looked thinner (except for her swollen belly), her wavy hair matted, and she looked paler than usual. Tired. It was no secret to Fili that there was not much to eat in the camp, and that everyone was getting sick in the winter. Everyone was getting thinner, including his whole family.

Dis observed her son in return, tracing her thumb over his soft, baby cheek, which had yet to grow the faintest blond wisp of a beard in due time. His little body was sturdy, as every dwarfling should be, having his father's structure and hair, but there was no doubt in her mind that Fili's hair shined the brightest of all. Her little sun, warm, brave, and selfless. Like his father in every way...except for his eyes, which were her own.

They were also very observant. Impressive, for one so young. Already a fine, little prince.

"Are you sick, Mama?"

Dis felt her heart clench at his question, but she shook her head. "No, little one. I am not, and neither are you, thank goodness." She did feel a little weak, a little dizzy, but every time someone asked her if she was alright, she waved it off.

"Is Da going to come back soon?"

"I hope so, love. I hope so." There was another sharp movement; she then winced and leaned a little forward, her hand tightening on his smaller one, alarming Fili.

"Mama!" he exclaimed, watching as she started to breathe, but she shook her head.

"It's just the baby, Fili. Your little brother or sister is going to be a wild one for sure. I doubt the little one will ever be boring."

"I hope it's a brother," Fili said excitedly. "I wanna teach him to sword fight when I'm bigger! I can show him lots of things, and he'll be much funner!"

Then the child yawned, and Dis laughed and shook her head. "I believe it's past both of our bedtime," she said with a sigh. Then she pushed herself off the rocking chair, feeling the weight of the kicking child within her, and placed her hand on her back and the other on her stomach. The pains continued. This was taking longer to pass than usual.

Then she took her son's little shoulders and started escorting him to the furry bedding. When she lay him down, wrapped him up in the furs, he snuggled up with his little stuffed Oliphant, peering up at his mother with those innocent eyes, looking for a moment like he did when he was days old. Dis smiled and leaned down to kiss his forehead, smoothing his blond hair.

She was about to say goodnight when the tent's flaps opened and someone burst through, causing Dis to gasp in alarm...only to see it was Ari, her maid and Fili's nanny. "Lady Dis..." she gasped.

"What in Durin's name...!" Dis snapped, recovering from her fright at the sudden entrance. Fili was now sitting up, wide eyed and alert. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

The brown-haired dwarrow dam hesitated for a moment, seeing the little dwarfling laying next to his mother, and then said hurriedly, "Dis, it's your brother, Thorin. And your husband. They're back."

Dis gasped, joy instantly spreading through with relief and Fili jumped up from his bedding. "Da and uncle are back?" he exclaimed happily.

When Dis started to smile, it instantly faded when sensing Ari's distress, and the relief had faded to sudden alarm. She stood up and put a protective hand over her belly. "Just them?" she asked, trying to keep the waver out of her voice. "Ari?"

Her maid bit her lip, glancing outside briefly, her face pale and eyes distressed. She looked like she was struggling to find the right words. "Dis…it's Vili."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Khazash = brother/friend

**Author's Note:**

> Black Speech translation:
> 
> *DIE!


End file.
